


Where Have We Come and Where Shall We End?

by Chash



Series: Holiday Fills 2015 [16]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M, The Mummy Fusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 18:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5550806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake and his sister need a guide to the City of the Dead, so they break Clarke Griffin out of prison. All things considered, Clarke thinks she might have preferred the hanging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Have We Come and Where Shall We End?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elizardbits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizardbits/gifts), [magentaquills (synthanita)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=magentaquills+%28synthanita%29).



> Last of the long fills! For two of my favorite people <3

Clarke is not having the best day.

The worst part, she decides, as she watches Bellamy Blake gesturing to the map to Hamunaptra, is that on any day where you are literally sentenced to death and _actually hanged_ , the hanging should be the low point. Everything else should be uphill.

But she’s not convinced that Bellamy Blake isn’t going to be the death of her, and it’s going to be a much worse death than a simple hanging.

“Where did you even get this map?” Clarke asks him. His glasses keep sliding down his nose and he has to push his tangle of curls off his forehead every two seconds. He has ink stains on his fingers, and Clarke has no idea how he ended up in Egypt. She’s surprised he took his nose out of his books long enough to get here, in all honesty. And now she’s supposed to guide him to the fucking _City of the Dead_.

He glances at his sister, who seems, if not more competent, then at least more experienced with the world outside of academia than Bellamy. She’s the one who tracked Clarke down, after all.

“Did you know that if you’re pretty, people assume you can’t be any good at cards?” she asks, bright. “It’s very bad for them, honestly.”

Clarke has to smile. “You won a map to the City of the Dead in a card game?”

“I needed a present for Bell’s birthday,” she says, nonchalant, but she’s clearly proud of herself. “He says it’s real. It is, right?”

“How did you end up in Hamunaptra in the first place?” Bellamy asks, fixing Clarke with a contemplative stare. He’s been giving her that a look a lot, and she doesn’t think she likes it.

“You know,” she says, with a smiles and a vague wave of her hand. “These things happen.”

“They don’t, actually,” he says. “People don’t just end up in mythical–”

“She’s helping us,” Octavia says. “Right?” she adds, looking at Clarke with eyebrows raised.

“Apparently,” says Clarke. A deal’s a deal. And, if she’s honest, she’s kind of curious. Bellamy Blake may very well get her killed, but she wants to see how it happens. He seems like he’ll be creative about it. “Look, I can get you in. I don’t know why you’d want to get in there–”

“Don’t know why?” Bellamy asks, sounding actually _offended_. “How can you not know why? Do you have any idea what kind of knowledge is in there? What kind of things we could _learn_? This is an ancient ruin that no one has been able to even find, let alone explore.”

“Plus, you know, treasure,” says Octavia.

“Yeah, okay, fine, treasure,” he says, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Obviously it would be good if we could make some cash. I wouldn’t mind being set for life. But that’s–how do you not get how amazing this is? Finding a place that no one has seen for _millennia_ , being the first to discover what’s in there. It’s–” He shakes his head. “Honestly, if you don’t get that, I have no idea how to explain it to you.”

Clarke started traveling with her father so long ago, she barely remembers it. She’s been seeing ancient ruins and unknown wonders for so long, she sometimes forgets that they’re special. When you’ve seen one decaying city full of skeletons, you haven’t seen them all, but by this point, it’s hard to find something that really impresses her.

But there’s something about Bellamy Blake that makes everything feel new. Her father was like that too; no matter how many places they went that just looked the same to Clarke, he always knew what made this one special, different, unique. After he died, Clarke kept on exploring because it was what she knew, all she knew, but it hadn’t been like it was before.

And now here’s Bellamy Blake, messy hair and smudged glasses, freckles and dark skin that have nothing to do with spending too much time in the sun, looking at her like he’s just so overwhelmed by how amazing the world is, and it’s–

Maybe it’s not the worst day after all.

“Yeah, no, I understand,” she says, offering him a smile. “I’ll get you there. I promise.”

He smiles back. “Thanks.”

*

Clarke Griffin is not what Bellamy was expecting.

Honestly, when Octavia said they were going to break a famous adventurer out of prison, he’d imagined, well–a man. Especially with the name _Clarke Griffin_. Not that he has anything against women as adventurers, or as anything else, it’s just that given the information he had, he was picturing a grizzled giant, some fifty-year-old veteran covered in scars. The Clarke Griffin of Bellamy’s imaginings might have had an eye patch.

When he saw the actual Clarke Griffin, he was sure his sister had made a mistake. She wasn’t much older than Octavia, with a braid of golden blonde hair down her back and clear blue eyes. He couldn’t even imagine what someone like her would have done to end up facing execution in an Egyptian prison.

And then, he sees her on the boat.

He’s used to Octavia, who tends to be much more feminine in company than she is with just him. She turns up the charm and the giggling and makes sure everyone underestimates her, which is exactly how she likes it. But Clarke acts exactly like he would have expected Clarke Griffin, Veteran Explorer with an Eye Patch, to act. She drinks and smokes and swears, and it’s–

Honestly, it’s very distracting. Bellamy doesn’t tend to spend much time with women who aren’t his sister–with anyone who isn’t his sister–and Clarke is absolutely nothing like anyone he has ever met.

“They’ve got fucking _Murphy_ ,” she tells him, taking a long drink from her flask and then passing it over. “ _Murphy_.”

“Who’s Murphy?” he asks, passing the flask back without drinking and trying not to smile.

“He was there when I saw Hamunaptra. I thought he died. He’s a _coward_ ,” she says, spitting the word like it tastes bad in her mouth.

“How did you end up there, anyway?” he asks. “Were you looking for it?”

“I’d heard stories,” says Clarke. She scrutinizes him. “My dad always wanted to go. But it was honestly pretty much an accident.”

Bellamy might have thought of it sooner, if he hadn’t been so distracted by the reality of Clarke, compared to what he’d been expecting. He knew Jake Griffin had a daughter, but he hadn’t known her name, or anything else about her. He remembers passing references to A and C in Jake’s writing, and then just C, when A died or left or something.

“Jake Griffin?” he asks, and she brightens instantly.

“Have you read his stuff?”

“Yeah, he’s–wow. I’ve read everything he ever wrote. No wonder you know what you’re doing.”

She ducks her head, obviously pleased. “It’s just what I grew up with, I guess. It’s not my passion, not like it’s yours, but–I guess I’m used to it by now. My mom hates it, she wants me to come home and get married, but I wouldn’t know the first thing about being someone’s wife.”

“So how did you end up in prison?”

She grins. “Oh, just being me.”

He’s going to ask for more details, more about her father or her history or just–everything about her, honestly, but there’s a crash and yelling and then suddenly there’s Octavia, fleeing from the other group of explorers.

“Some people really don’t like losing,” she says.

“Speaking of getting punished just for being yourself,” he grumbles. “O, what the–”

There’s a gunshot, and Clarke swears and ducks. “Seriously, how hard did you beat them?”

Another gunshot. “How is it my fault they’re sore losers?”

“Seriously,” says Bellamy. “What did you take?”

Octavia holds up a golden coin on a medallion. “He says we need it to get into Hamunaptra,” she says. “I had to work really hard to get him to bet it at all, and he really wasn’t happy I won it, so–”

Clarke glances out, over the water. “I hope you two can swim,” she says, and pushes Bellamy off the boat.

*

By the time they make it to town, Clarke is wet and irritable and about ready to murder someone. All the pleasant buzz of alcohol and surprisingly good company has worn off, and now she’s ready to collapse onto the first horizontal surface she finds that isn’t entirely sand.

If they hadn’t reached town when she did, she might have murdered Bellamy and slept on his corpse. Although, she has to admit, both the Blakes dealt surprisingly well with the entire affair. She’d been expecting more complaining, and the fact that they’re both suffering in mostly stoic silence is somewhat infuriating. If _they’re_ not going to complain, she can’t either. She’s the expert here. She’s the one who should be dealing with this.

She just _hates_ being wet.

Bellamy’s the one who gets them accommodations for the night–he’s better at the language than Clarke, even if his accent leaves something to be desired–and once he’s got it sorted out, she strips down and collapses into bed without bothering to eat or pay any attention to anyone else. She’s still recovering from a near-death situation. She’s had a long few years.

When she wakes up and she’s not alone, she wishes she’d paid more attention to what was happening. Surely there’s a _reason_ Bellamy is draped on her. He’s surprisingly muscular, considering he seems to never do anything but read, and very warm and--firm.

Not that she’s thinking about his muscles, or any other parts of his anatomy. She has more important things to think about.

She pokes him in the side. “Bellamy. _Bellamy_. Wake up. What are you doing?”

He opens one eye and immediately scowls. Either he’s not a morning person, or she brings out the best in him. Possibly both.

“Good morning to you too,” he grumbles. “What?”

“Why are we sleeping together?”

“They assumed you were my wife. I didn’t want to explain why we were actually traveling together, and you were dead to the world, so it seemed easier to just not worry about it.” He yawns. “Sorry if that offends you.”

“Offends _me_?” Clarke asks, horrified. “Why doesn’t it offend you?”

Clarke has shared beds with men and women for all kinds of reasons, both practical and pleasurable; she’s used to it. Bellamy cannot do this very often. He should be nervous, embarrassed, _something_.

Instead, he just groans and rubs his face. “Did you wake me up just to ask me why I don’t mind sharing your bed? Don’t worry, it’s not my first choice or anything. But we needed a place to stay, you were already unconscious, and I’d already said O was my sister. I promise I won’t get attached.”

Clarke extricates herself from his arms and goes to find a basin to wash in. It’s right by Octavia, who’s also still asleep, and Clarke gets herself cleaned up and feeling more human in no time.

Bellamy is sitting up himself, locating his glasses, but not his shirt. Clarke, very firmly, does not care about his state of undress. She doesn’t care how messy his hair is or how appealing he looks first thing in the morning.

“Do we need to get going already?” he asks. “It’s barely dawn.”

“If Murphy and his guys are heading to the City of the Dead too, we want to use as much of our head start as we can,” she says. “Just because they were on the wrong side of the river last night doesn’t mean they still are today.” She glances at Octavia. “Get your sister up and get ready. I’m going to see if I can get us some supplies.”

“Supplies?”

“I’m the expert, remember?” Clarke asks, and his smile is softer than is good for her.

“Jake Griffin’s daughter,” he says. “Don’t worry, I know we’re in good hands. Do what you have to do; O and I can be ready to head out in twenty minutes, if you need it.”

She wants to hate him. It’s increasingly difficult to remember _why_ she wants to hate him, except that he’s inexperienced and over-confident and on a damn _fool’s errand_ , because Clarke has _seen_ the City of the Dead, and she doesn’t particularly want to see it again.

But he’s dedicated to his fool’s errand, and he’s willing to listen to her, unlike most men who come looking for Clarke Griffin’s expert guidance, and he’s--he loves this. That matters to Clarke.

“You’ve probably got thirty,” she admits. “See you out there.”

*

Bellamy had always wanted to go out on his own into the field. Not that he doesn’t love the library–he really loves the library–but there are so many things that no one has discovered yet, and he always wondered what it would be like, to be wealthy enough that he could just travel around the world, seeking out what adventure he could find.

He and Octavia used everything they had for this; if it doesn’t work out, he’s not sure what he’ll do. Try to find a job in Egypt, he supposes. Just lie down and die.

But if it works out, he’s going to go other places. Italy next, he thinks. Definitely Italy. And then Greece, and back to Egypt. Once he’s forgotten how much he hates the heat and the sand and his fucking camel. His camel is definitely trying to kill him. It keeps gnawing on his hair whenever he dismounts. Bellamy doesn’t mind most parts of Egypt, but sand in all parts of his body and camel spit in his hair? He could do without that.

“What’s your favorite place you’ve ever gone?” he asks Clarke.

“What?” she asks. She looks pretty irritable herself, which makes him smile. Bellamy might have some minor complaints, but they pale in comparison to the overwhelming awesomeness of _this_. He’s on a camel traveling to the fucking  _City of the Dead_.

But for Clarke, this is just–Tuesday. She’s irritated because this is normal for her, irritated like Bellamy is when he gets a paper cut or he has to deal with Professor Wallace, his least favorite faculty member back home. These are the petty, everyday things that Clarke hates because she’s used to them, and he can’t quite comprehend what that would be like.

“You traveled a lot with your dad. What’s your favorite place you went?” he asks. He doesn’t know how to stop being curious about her.

Clarke considers it, leaning back against her own camel’s hump. She hates camels more than he does; he’s pretending to like them just to irritate her more. There’s just something about winding her up.

“I think it’s probably Pompeii,” she says, thoughtful, and Bellamy pretends his heart doesn’t stop, pretends he hasn’t been reading stories about Pompeii and ancient Rome for as long as he could read, that he didn’t name his baby sister after a Roman noblewoman.

Instead he says, in a very normal voice, “Yeah? Why?”

Octavia still rolls her eyes at him, but that’s pretty normal.

“I guess it’s–I don’t have the history background that you do,” Clarke says, her voice still contemplative. “A lot of the places my dad took me–they were amazing to look at, don’t get me wrong. And he’d tell me about them, what I was seeing. But Pompeii was the first place we ever went that made sense to me, I guess. It clicked for me, that these were _people_ , living lives.” She smiles a little. “I was–ten, I think? I made up all these stories about them for years.”

Bellamy fumbles for his canteen and manages to gulp down some water. “Yeah, I can see how that would happen,” he says, and Octavia mutters something under her breath that he can’t hear.

“What?” Clarke asks her, concerned, like she thinks O had something important to say, when she was definitely just making fun of him. He doesn’t know how, but–yeah. There’s no question.

“Oh, nothing, just–” Octavia starts, and she’s cut off by the sound of hoof beats, a group arriving on horseback, with _swords_. It would be pretty cool, if they weren’t the ones being attacked.

Okay, it’s still pretty cool, honestly. They have _swords_.

Still, he has to admit it is a little annoying that people are always attacking them right when he and Clarke are starting to get along. If they could just keep out of conflicts for a consecutive hour, he thinks he might actually get to like her.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she says, in her _this is just another regular, every day inconvenience_ voice. “I should have just let them hang me.”

It’s possible he already likes her. Just a little.

*

“No one ever tried to kill me _at all_ the last time I was here,” Clarke grumbles. They got away from the group with some cryptic warnings about awakening evil or disturbing death or something, but she did get a gash on her arm, which is mostly annoying. Bellamy is insisting on patching her up. “I think you’re bad luck,” she continues.

“I wasn’t the one you had to break out of prison,” Bellamy points out, which might be reasonable. “And you still haven’t even told me how you ended up in prison. I have a very safe life.”

“Up until a few days ago?”

He shrugs. “I never said I _liked_ having a safe life.”

“I think it would be novel,” she grumbles.

“We can trade,” he says, pouring some alcohol on a rag and rubbing it against her arm. She winces, and he just grins wider. Asshole. At least he gives her the bottle so she can take a drink after. The alcohol is shitty and burns all the way down, but she’s used to that. “I’ll do the adventuring and you can go home to the library.”

“What do librarians do, exactly?”

“Most of the time I just try not to strangle professors who think I’m not good at my job,” he says, tying a clean strip of cloth around her arm. “I assume you wouldn’t have as much restraint.”

“I’ve never strangled anyone,” Clarke says. She shoves the bottle of booze at him. “If you want to be an adventurer, you’re going to need to start drinking like one.”

He gives her a contemplative look, and she smiles. Octavia is giving them space, pretending she’s asleep, and Clarke would be annoyed about it, except that she does kind of enjoy talking to Bellamy. He’s very close and warm and his hair is a disaster that she still wants to slide her fingers into it. It’s a strange feeling, and she can’t decide if she likes it. Desire is familiar; she’s attracted to people all the time. But she knows how to deal with that feeling; she’s sure if she climbed into his lap and started kissing him, he wouldn’t resist. She’s very irresistible.

It’s just that she thinks it wouldn’t be enough. She thinks she’d like to keep seeing him, letting him tell her about the sites they visit, bickering about the best routes to take, sitting by the fire with him at night, leaned into his side.

That’s nothing she’s wanted before, and she doesn’t know why she does. He’s–

He takes the bottle and takes a long drink, winces as it goes down.

“Jesus, why would you drink that?”

Clarke grins and shifts next to him, shoulder brushing against his. It’s blatantly unnecessary, and he raises his eyebrows at her. She just knocks their shoulders together. “Mostly so men take me seriously.”

“I apologize on behalf of my gender for putting you through that,” he says, passing the bottle back.

“Why Hamunaptra?” she asks.

“Hm?”

“Why is this the place you decided to come find?”

He takes the bottle back and drinks again. “Honestly? O got that map. I knew some about it, but not a lot. But it’s somewhere–” He pauses, worries his lip, but finally sighs. “We’ve never had much money. My mom was never married, not to either of our fathers. I scraped through university, got a job, figured out how to support us, but it was tough for a long time. I had enough money to try one stupid thing, and O got the map, so–here we are.” He smiles down at his hands, rueful. “Honestly, if this doesn’t work, I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

“What do you mean, doesn’t work?”

“Make me enough money to get us home?”

Clarke smiles. “How did you manage to bribe me out of jail, if you’re that broke?”

He snorts. “You aren’t going to believe this, but I can be very charming when I want to be.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe it.”

His grin is bright in the firelight, a flash of white teeth. “Well, I don’t want to charm you.”

“No?” she asks, leaning in, just a little. Just enough.

“Not at all,” he murmurs, and then his mouth is on hers, dry and warm, surprisingly undemanding. It’s a _romantic_ kiss, the kind of kiss that’s meant as the first of many, no expectations that he’ll have her naked in the next few minutes. Their only points of contact are their shoulders, their lips, and his hand, soft against her cheek. She’s not used to soft hands.

He pulls back, just a breath, eyes fluttering open to look at her, and Clarke can’t stop looking back.

He wets his lips, and Clarke slides her hand up, into his messy hair.

“I–” he starts, and then she startles at the thunder of hoof beats. “Every fucking time,” he mutters, and Clarke laughs, presses her mouth against his, fast, and then stands, looking around.

“Fuck. It’s Murphy and his friends,” she says.

“How did you end up with Murphy, anyway?”

“By accident. I should have just killed him when I had the chance.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up,” says Bellamy. “You might have another chance.”

Clarke has to smile. “Thanks. I feel so much better.” She offers him a hand and pulls him up; the feel of his fingers against hers reminds her of them against her cheek, and she shivers, just a little. “Wake your sister up,” she says. “We’ve got company.”

*

Aside from kissing Clarke Griffin, nothing in Bellamy’s life has made his heart swoop like his first sight of the City of the Dead. He’s _here_ , really _here_ , one of the first people to set foot in these ruins for thousands of years.

Murphy and the rest of his crew go left, per their agreement to just excavate different areas of the site, and Bellamy takes Clarke and Octavia right, pointing out places he’s read about, landmarks he’s seen in old drawings, getting them away from the others. He knows exactly what he’s looking for, and he has no interest in sharing.

“Oh my god, will you shut up about the ancient marketplace for _five seconds_?” Octavia asks, huffing out a laugh. “I don’t even have time to take in the ancient splendor because you’re so annoying.”

He glances at Clarke, who’s smiling a little, and falls into step with her instead.

“So, where are you taking us?” she asks, low.

“Buried treasure,” he says.

She slides her hand into his. “I thought you were interested in knowledge and discovery.”

“The treasure is a book,” he admits, and she laughs and squeezes his fingers.

“Of course it is.”

He’s not the one who finds it, though. The leader of Murphy’s expedition, some total dick named Kane, gets the book and brags about it at camp that night, which is fucking stupid of him, because Octavia is a pretty good thief, when she can’t win things the slightly less dishonest way with gambling or other trickery.

Most of the time, Bellamy thinks he raised his sister right. He just thinks his definition of _right_ is probably slightly skewed.

“This isn’t it,” Bellamy says, fingers tracing over the cover of the book.

“Oh no, I can’t believe I stole the wrong book,” O says. “Do I have to steal another book? Can’t I steal something cool? Like a plane?”

“Do they have a plane?” Clarke asks. “If they have a plane, we should definitely steal it.”

“Shut up,” says Bellamy, absent. “The Book of Gold was supposed to be here. This is–” He frowns at the words. “Book of the Dead?”

“That sounds ominous,” says Clarke, leaning over his shoulder. “Is it a list of everyone who’s dead or what?”

In retrospect, it is a bad idea to _start reading the book_. Clarke and Octavia will never stop telling him how bad an idea it was to start reading the book. But it’s a _new book_ and it’s full of words, only some of which he knows, so he has to sound them out.

If he believed in things like mummies and curses and ancient evil slumbering away in ruins for millennia, he probably wouldn’t have done it. Probably. But, seriously, someone would have mentioned magic being real before, right? This shouldn’t have been something he was discovering this late in his life.

“We have an entire fucking _order_ dedicated to preventing this from happening,” says Raven. He remembers her from the group that attacked them in the desert; she still has a sword, and it’s still awesome. They escaped from the city with large parts of Kane and Murphy’s crew, and Raven and her riders were waiting for them to go back to Cairo and make a plan. “And you guys manage it in  _one night_.”

“We’re really efficient,” says Clarke. “If you’re going to raise the dead, you might as well just get it out of the way. Why wait around? Just get right to it.” She gives Raven a tight smile. “So, we got that done. What’s step two? How do we get rid of it?”

“Our plan was to never let it come out in the first place,” Raven says, glaring at Bellamy again. Bellamy glares right back.

“The order has always been focused on preventing the resurrection of Imhotep,” Lincoln adds. He’s less openly aggressive than Raven, but Octavia has also been making sure she’s next to him whenever she can be, so Bellamy dislikes him on principle. Not that his baby sister’s romantic entanglements are really what he should be worrying about right now.

“Well, again,” says Clarke, brisk. “That didn’t happen. He’s resurrected. So we need to figure out what to do. Are you going to help, or are you just going to keep on being dicks to Bellamy about how he made a mistake? Because we’ve established that. We got it. Either come up with an actual plan or fuck off. We don’t need you.”

Clarke and Raven glare at each other for a minute, and Bellamy clears his throat. “He, uh,” he starts, and everyone turns to him. “He called me _Anck-su-Namun_ , if that helps.”

Everyone turns to stare at him.

“Anck-su-Namun,” says Lincoln.

“Yeah. That’s–she was a priestess, right?” he asks. “I’ve seen her name in some texts. She was the Pharaoh’s mistress.” He trails off, because everyone is still staring at him. “What?”

“Holy crap, Imhotep wants the librarian to be his undead bride,” Raven says.

“What,” Bellamy asks, flat.

“He is cute,” she continues, like Bellamy hadn’t said anything. “But I didn’t really think he was Imhotep’s type.”

“Some of us like cute librarians of both genders,” Clarke says. “Does this help? Can we use this to stop him?” She glances at Bellamy. “In a safe way. We’re not sacrificing Bellamy to save the world.”

“Why not?” asks Raven. “He’s the one who–”

“Because we’re not,” Clarke snaps, and Bellamy bites back on a smile. Now is not the time to try to kiss her again.

Assuming he hasn’t actually destroyed the world, he can do it again later. He doesn’t think she’ll mind.

“So,” she says, giving Lincoln and Raven a sunny smile. “What’s the plan?”

*

Bellamy Blake is the worst fucking thing that has ever happened to Clarke. She went to ruins all around the world with her father for _twenty years_ , and they never once awoke an ancient evil priest who unleashed the plagues back onto Egypt and wanted to destroy the world with an army of the undead. Not _once_. She’s know Bellamy for less than a week and he’s already done it, gotten the priest to fall for him, and given himself up as a sacrifice so the rest of them can buy time to figure out how to destroy Imhotep once and for all.

And, to top it all off, she’s pretty sure _she’s_ in love with him too. It’s _awful_.

“Have you ever stolen a plane before?” she asks Octavia.

“No,” she says. “But I’ve stolen a car before, and I figure it’s basically the same. Just, you know. In the air.”

“Yeah, that seems likely,” Clarke grumbles, and Octavia glares at her.

“He’s _my_ brother, okay?” she says. “I know you guys have some–thing going, and honestly, I’m happy for you. Bell could use someone, you know.” She pauses. “Well, you’re probably good for him. But just because you like him doesn’t mean you get to boss _me_ around. I want him to be okay just as much as you do.” She glances over at Lincoln and Raven. “You guys have everything?”

“I hope so,” says Raven. “You get us to the Mummy, and we’ll save your brother. Deal?”

“Deal,” says Octavia.

Given the overall quality of their planning, Clarke is amazed it works out as well as it does. Octavia hotwires the plane, Clarke knows how to fly it, and Raven and Lincoln argue over the correct pronunciations in the Book of Life, which is supposed to turn Imhotep mortal and therefore susceptible to the various weapons they brought along for the ride.

Clarke is just praying that Bellamy is still alive when they get there. He’s not allowed to be dead. He’s _not_. He’s especially not allowed to come back from the dead as a mummy. The last thing she wants is to have to have an epic, undead battle with a guy she didn’t even get to sleep with.

But when they arrive, he’s alive, and she’s going to keep him that way.

“Took you long enough,” he mutters. Clarke might have basically crashed the plane into an army of undead. She knows how to make a fucking entrance, okay?

“You’re the one who volunteered to hang out with the mummy,” she hisses back. “I did not support that.”

“Do you have a plan?” he asks. Imhotep is yelling, but Clarke still doesn’t speak the language. And she doesn’t care. She’s going to kill him, just as soon as Raven and Lincoln get the Book of Life under control.

“Yeah, it’s great. You’re going to love it.” She glances at him. “You’re okay? He didn’t hurt you?”

Bellamy flashes her a smile. “He was a total gentleman. I was very impressed. So many mummies are all hands.”

Clarke can’t kiss him right now. There’s a _plan_. Saving the world comes first, and then she gets the guy. “Oh good,” she says. “That was definitely my big concern.”

“Griffin!” Raven yells. “Are you ready?”

“Born ready!” she yells back.

“Is this the plan?”

“This is the plan.” She wets her lips. “Raven’s going to read from the Book of Life. That should make him mortal, and we need to kill him. If I can’t, you should.”

“Got it,” he says. “Solid plan. I like it.” He wets his lips. “You better survive this.”

“Same to you,” she says, and squeezes his hand, once, before she lets go and waits for Raven to give them the signal.

It’s going to work. It’s not allowed to not work. She’s not going to let it.

They’re going to win.

*

“So, that went pretty well, for your first attempt at an adventure,” Octavia says. They managed to get a lot of the loot from the city. Bellamy feels a little bad that they only have a lot of the stuff because people died, and he knows it was his fault. But, as Octavia pointed out, most of those people were assholes and grave robbers, and he’s given all the pieces of historical value to museums. They’re just keeping the cold, hard cash. Octavia protested, but–there’s only so much benefit Bellamy is willing to reap from having nearly destroyed the world.

“I literally raised the dead,” he points out. “We nearly died. He swore revenge.”

“Yeah,” says Octavia. “Most people probably wait until their third or four trip into cursed ruins for that. You’re really good at this.”

He snorts. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Where’s Clarke?”

He bites his lip. “I, uh. I don’t know. She said she had some stuff to take care of.”

It’s honestly why Bellamy has been in Cairo for a week, with no plan of what he’s doing next. He knows what he wants to do, or at least he does a little. He wants to go with Clarke. He doesn’t know where she’s going or what her plans are, but–he’s pretty sure she just wanders around the world finding adventure, and that’s what Bellamy wants. Ruins and treasure and adventure and Clarke by his side.

But he hasn’t seen her since they defeated Imhotep, and he’s too stubborn to just go find her. He wouldn’t really know where to start, and she knows exactly where he is.

O’s happy with it. She’s been getting to know Lincoln and Raven, and she’s thinking of staying in Cairo. Not forever, but–she likes it here, and Bellamy thinks she’d be happy. She’d find things to do. Honestly, she’d do very well in an ancient order dedicated to protecting the world from the undead. If he’d known it was an option, he would have suggested it earlier.

“Well, you should go find her,” Octavia says, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m going to get dinner with Lincoln, and you need a life plan.”

She opens the hotel room door, and Clarke is there, nervous and cleaner than he remembered. Her hair is back in a loose braid, and she’s wearing a clean white blouse and khaki trousers. Bellamy stares for lack of any other idea of how to deal with the situation.

“Even better,” says Octavia. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” he calls, and she just waves over her shoulder without acknowledging that she just told him she’s planning to not come back to the hotel to sleep.

But Clarke is still outside, her jaw set, all defiance, and that’s more important.

“I was worried you died,” he remarks. “Which would have been really sad. Surviving the mummy and all that shit just to get killed in Cairo.”

She wets her lips and shoves something at his chest.

“What?”

“Pompeii,” she says. “Tomorrow. Are you coming?”

He glances at the tickets. Cairo to Rome, by plane. “It took you a week to come up with these?”

“I had–stuff to deal with,” she says. “I was, you know, arrested and nearly executed. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to have legal issues.” She smiles a little. “You’re the person in this relationship who nearly gets us killed. So I’ve decided I’m going to be the responsible one. Which means I’ve got money and plane tickets and no one wants to arrest me.”

“ _You’re_ the responsible one?” Bellamy asks, feeling a smile growing on his face. She bought them plane tickets. She wants this to be a _relationship_. She came back.

“Which one of us raised the dead?”

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Absolutely never.” She twines her arms around his neck, pulls him down for a much longer, deeper kiss than the first they shared. “So, Pomepeii. Are you in?”

“I’m in,” he says. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

He closes the door and scoops her into his arms. “So, we’ve got some time,” he murmurs, kissing her again.

“All the time in the world,” she agrees, and Bellamy could definitely get used to that.


End file.
